


hymn to aphrodite ;

by pentaghastly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (if you can call that a plot), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, sansa is so gay, so is margaery, that's in caps because it's the whole plot, they're both super duper gay, this is literally just pure fluff and sansa being In Love With Marg's Face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentaghastly/pseuds/pentaghastly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think that, after strings of one failed relationship after another (by no fault of her own, really, unless you chose to count ‘<em>too trusting of the absolute wrong people</em>’ as a fault), that Sansa Stark would have learned long ago the difference between the right and wrong person to pursue.</p><p>And, really, she had thought that she <em>had</em>. Jeoff and Harry were long gone, Sandor had been over before he even began, Mya was a potential mistake handily avoided, and Peter was well on his way to being a potential candidate for a restraining order. She was quite convinced that she had finally learned what did and did not constitute a healthy, working relationship, and a big portion of that included how to learn what did and did not make a suitable partner.</p><p>For the love of god (whatever one, really, she wasn’t picky), Sansa had even read <em>books.</em></p><p><em>Plural</em>.</p><p>But apparently it had all been a massive waste of money, because it wasn’t five seconds after the pretty brunette walked into her coffee shop that she was declaring to Jeyne, rather adamantly in fact, that she was <em>The One</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hymn to aphrodite ;

You would think that, after strings of one failed relationship after another (by no fault of her own, really, unless you chose to count ‘ _too trusting of the absolute wrong people_ ’ as a fault), that Sansa Stark would have learned long ago the difference between the right and wrong person to pursue.

And, really, she had thought that she _had_. Jeoff and Harry were long gone, Sandor had been over before he even began, Mya was a potential mistake handily avoided, and Peter was well on his way to being a potential candidate for a restraining order. She was quite convinced that she had finally learned what did and did not constitute a healthy, working relationship, and a big portion of that included how to learn what did and did not make a suitable partner.

For the love of god (whatever one, really, she wasn’t picky), Sansa had even read _books._

 _Plural_.

But apparently it had all been a massive waste of money, because it wasn’t five seconds after the pretty brunette walked into her coffee shop that she was declaring to Jeyne, rather adamantly in fact, that she was _The One_.

,,,

There was a list of things that Sansa Stark knew about Margaery, and it went like this:

\- she’s gorgeous  
\- her taste in clothing is amazing  
\- she’s a complete flirt, but she flirts with Sansa the most (and that has to count for something, doesn't it?)  
\- she orders the same drink every single time, and it’s disgusting

Not that the last point was any fault of Marg’s (a nickname she had told Sansa to call her, causing the barista to giggle and blush like a bloody fucking schoolgirl), but it was just that Sansa had a sweet tooth, and the thought of strong, cold, iced black coffee with absolutely zero sugar or cream was frankly a little bit sickening.

There was another list, one that she was trying to ignore but was doing a rather shit job of, that was titled Reasons Why Margaery Tyrell Was Not a Romantic Prospect, and _that_ list went like so:

\- she had dated Jeoff  
\- their parents are political rivals (and yes, maybe Sansa had done a bit of research to discover that one, but it was more romantic than creepy, she was sure of it)  
\- she is way too pretty to not be hiding some sort of secret  
\- her coffee order is disgusting

And really, Sansa knows that that list was far more important than the first, because she is quite certain her father would disown her if she dated a Tyrell and really, she had no indication that Margaery was even interested anyways, so it was ridiculous to even consider anything otherwise.

Naturally, however, that didn’t stop Sansa from drawing little pictures on her paper cups any time the woman came into the shop, if only because it always seemed to make Marg smile, and wasn’t that more important than any stupid list? She liked to think so - or, perhaps more accurately, she was going to stubbornly think so until the time came where she _absolutely_ had to think something otherwise.

(No matter how Tully anyone said she looked, they couldn’t claim she didn’t have the stubborn mind of a Stark.)

,,,

“What do you do, Sansa?”

An innocuous question from someone else, but somehow, as she leaned over the counter on a particularly dead segment of Sansa’s shift, Marg managed to make it sound particularly dirty (not that Sansa minded at all).

“You know what I do,” the redhead said with a roll of her eyes, trying to will the near-constant faint pink blush off of her cheeks, “you watch me do it five days a week - you even pay me for it.”

“Making coffee is your job - it isn’t what you _do_ ,” and before Sansa could even point out all the reasons why that statement made absolutely zero sense, Marg was continuing on. “I mean, what do you do because you _want_ to? When it’s just you and you have all the time in the world to yourself, what do you do?”

She wanted to answer, she really did, but for a moment all that Sansa could think was that it was a question none of her past romantic partners had bothered to ask her before, not even attempting to feign curiosity in her life, and while Marg was more ‘ _casual acquaintance_ ’ than romantic partner, the shock was equally as strong.

So she had to take a few breaths, regain her composure, before continuing.

“Paint,” and it came out a little breathless, as if she had just been kissed rather than just been asked an innocent question, “I paint.”

“Brilliant!” Margaery didn’t even seem to notice her momentary hesitation, continuing on as if nothing out of the blue had happened at all. “You should paint me sometime, if you’d like. I like to think I’d make a very good model, and I can sit _very_ still if needed.” 

And god, there was nothing Sansa could think of that she would enjoy more, but all she could consider was how horrible of a job that she would do - not that she was a bad painter but simply that surely no one could portray even half of Marg’s beauty and vivacity and life on canvas, not even someone as talented as herself, and even attempting to do so seemed as though she would be setting herself up for miserable, shameful failure.

She couldn’t say all that out loud, however, so instead she simply said “Of course,” and tried not to flush even deeper when Marg smiled.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, of course. The price is completely up to you,” and she winked, fucking _winked_ , which had Sansa gripping the counter before her in a white-knuckle way that she knew was way, way too obvious to ever be considered cool. “See you tomorrow, gorgeous.”

Her farewell was an unintelligible parting phrase, and even Arya’s teasing couldn’t dampen Sansa’s good mood for the rest of her shift.

 _Fuck the list_ , Sansa thought, and a terrible decision had never felt so brilliant.

,,,

Marg didn’t come into the coffee shop for another week.

A week which, despite all her determination otherwise, Sansa spent in a miserable state, snapping at Arya and Jayne every other moment, flipping off Robb whenever he commented that her mood was far less than stellar. She knew she was being ridiculous, she really did, but she couldn’t help but run though every damn thing that she might have done wrong in her mind, and for Sansa, the potential of that seemed to be a _lot_.

So when Marg came into the shop the next Friday, looking even better than ever, Sansa tried her hardest to try and be cool about the whole thing.  
 Tried, and failed, because the moment she saw the brunette the first thing that she said was “Where have you been?” with all the concern of a clingy girlfriend, and wasn’t that just the most _casual_ way to go about things with a gorgeous woman you hardly knew?

But Marg hardly seemed to notice, or if she did she didn’t comment on it at all, bless her heart, and Sansa thought she might love her for it. “Sorry, darling! Family drama, you know, Loras eloping with his boyfriend that we didn’t even know _existed_. Well,” she paused, as if mulling over a great philosophical question, “to be fair, I knew he existed, but I’m very good at keeping secrets, you see. It’s all been a bit of a mess.”

Just when Sansa thought she had gotten away with her concern, Marg had to add, “Why? Did you miss me?”

It struck her that she could play it all off - she _could_ act as though she hardly cared, that it was just polite concern, but then Sansa thought about how she had been so scared and so bored and so lonely for so long, and hell, why shouldn’t she flirt with a pretty girl? A pretty girl she might possibly be in love with, sure, but why should that matter so long as she didn’t get weird about it?

So instead of brushing it off she replied, “You’ve no idea how much, darling,” and if her voice had a bit of a _purr_ to it, well, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be embarrassed. Not this time.

To her credit, even Margaery seemed surprised - Sansa was going to count that as a good thing.

(The phone number scrawled on a napkin affirmed to her that it was, in fact, a good thing; the heart at the end made her think that perhaps it could be something a little bit _more_.)

,,,

There was something peaceful about the coffee shop at closing.

The unique thing about The Wolf’s Den was that it stayed open _late_ \- they catered to the artistic type, the ones who wrote best after the sun had set and the day had faded into darkness, the people who worked better in the wee hours of the morning, when most normal human beings were tucked comfortably into her bed.

Sansa was, thank god, as much as a night owl as she was an early riser (her sleep schedule was sporadic at best), so closing at three am was far from unappealing.

Especially not unappealing when Marg was there, standing at the door waiting for her with a smile on her face that made Sansa think that she was waiting for something a little bit _more_.

“I have to say it is quite admirable,” and the teasing tone, the one that was far hotter than it had any right to be, “that you can work so tirelessly to clean this shop when you have me standing here waiting for you to finish. It’s so cute, I can’t even find it in myself to be jealous of the mop.”

Sansa twiddled said mop in her hands, confidence slightly higher than usual (but still, Marg had an unnatural ability to make her feel like a child with a crush, and she cursed her pale skin yet again). “Orlando Bloom could be here, draped naked across one of these arm chairs, and you _still_ wouldn’t have any right to be jealous.” And really, she wished that she was just saying that, but god if it wasn’t true.

Too open? Perhaps, but Sansa was tired of being shy. 

“Orlando Bloom, you say? Flattering,” she said, and the light from the fixtures above her was playing about in her chestnut curls like a halo and the sight was quickly added onto another mental list of Sansa’s as one of the most gorgeous things that she had ever seen, “but I’m much more partial to his ex-wife, honestly.”

“Well in that case,” Sansa paused, conjuring the most absurd mental image she could, “Miranda Kerr could be here, dancing in that million dollar bra on one of these tables, and you’d still be the one I was looking at.”

“Now,” Margaery was saying, and she might have sounded scolding had it not been for the smile on her face as she approached the counter, “you can’t say something like that, and not expect me to kiss you.”

“Now,” Sansa replied, and she was rather impressed with herself that she had any clarity of mind in order to form a reply at all, “you can’t honestly think that’s not exactly what I was hoping that you would do, can you?” 

And Sansa would be damned if, with the counter in-between them and still as close as they could get, with her foot popped in a way that would make Princess Mia of Genovia jealous, with her heart thudding to a beat completely off from the Miles Davis that was filtering in through the speakers above, it didn’t trump every single movie kiss that she had ever seen.


End file.
